


It started out with a text, how did it end up like this?

by worddumb



Series: Human AU thing [4]
Category: Hermitcraft
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Disturbing Themes, Gen, Hermits are too kind for this shit, OH BY THE WAY, SO FLUFFY, a bit - Freeform, aaaaaaaaaaaangst, but it's me we're talking about, it'll make you suffer, on the bright side it ends with a joke, only evil made up people hurt the poor thing, you know what? don't read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 16:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20439152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worddumb/pseuds/worddumb
Summary: Grian angst? Grian angst. Grian angst!





	It started out with a text, how did it end up like this?

** _ Bitch ass fucking hermit family_ **

_RedGoblin_I hate to alarm ya’ll, but I’m being followed

_Mumbo _ where are you

_Turtleman_What makes you say that? 

Also, whoever changed the chat name again, you’re on thin ice.

_Turtleman_ **changed chats title to** **_The Hermits_** **!**

_RedGoblin_i’m in this nice cafe bar, staring at my phone with the grossest love struck expression ever. it’s called Cappuccino bar. there is this touristy looking guy, a stupid button up with cargo shirts and all, who’s suspiciously ended up everywhere I went. He has super dark sunglasses, I can’t tell where he’s looking, and he’s out of my field of view, but I canf e e lhis creepy ass staring

_ Turtleman_Sorry Grian. Go on.

_Evil capitalist_I can hack the camera, if you take back the evil capitalist thing

_RedGoblin_guess I’ll die, than

_Evil capitalist _ Seriously.

_RedGoblin_oh, also they brought me a complimentary drink, no one but me received. 

the girl looked nervous as fuck, probably new or bribed

_Swedish hitman_you took it, didn’t you?

_RedGoblin_of course I did! it’d be suspicious! I’m not planning on drinking it, though.

where’s Mumbo?

_Swedish hitman_i’m not with him. is he okay?

_TFC_yes.

_RedGoblin_I’m gonna spill this coffee. if I stop responding, assume the worst, or whatever

_Evil capitalist_Who wants live feed of Grian pissing off Italian mafia? 

_Falsey_ How much? Asking for ren

_RedGoblin _ shut up, cub, or you change your Twitter url as well.

_Evil capitalist_One diamond, phone not provided.

_RedGoblin _ inconspicuously spilling drinks while looking madly in love is harder than I thought. also, Twitter waits, cub

_ Swedish hitman_it’s hard to believe you have sense of self preservation sometimes 

_RedGoblin_I don’t.

_Turtleman_Tell us how it goes.

_Evil capitalist_Surprisingly well, actually. If I didn’t know he was acting, I probably wouldn’t second guess.

_Turtleman _ Ah. 

Give us the feed, please?

_Evil capitalist_There you go, you owe me one diamond. 

*A young woman runs up to Grian, who is standing in shock, hot coffee on his lap and all around him. He holds his phone up, it’s going into sleep mode- a good precaution. The tourist he talked about is running up to him as well, hand going under his shirt, making a holster visible ever so slightly. The woman is fretting over him, seemingly trying to convince him to go to the back room to get cleaned up, Grian refusing politely and making some sort of a self deprecating joke. The man comes close, and draws out a gun, trying to disguise it. He’s a pretty good actor, his intentions not visible from a point you can’t see a pistol, as he gets Grians attention and says something, after which Grian allows himself to be led to a ‘stuff only’ door. Other people in the cafe don’t seem like they noticed anything fishy, settling down after a scene*

_Swedish hitman_well, Shit.

The door closed with a click behind Grian. Poor waitress, who gave him ‘complimentary’ coffee immediately ran off to the kitchen, looking terrified, as he was nudged to a chair with a tip of a gun, which he had no reason to doubt was loaded and off safety. He sat, holding his hands up and trying to play innocent and harmless, as defusing the situation seemed pretty impossible, when it never lit up in the first place. Might as well take advantage of people underestimating him, lower this styleless pigs guard- little advantage was better than none, when you bring your fists to a gun fight. Mr. ugly, meanwhile, took out an ampoule, full of somewhat clear liquid, and a syringe- Grian didn’t like where this was going, getting drugged wasn’t in his plans for today, so he started talking, having to fake distress less than he’d like: “I believe there was a misunderstanding-“ He was cut off, heavily accented but otherwise perfect English filling the air: “Don’t worry, boy, there was no such thing”- the man was ridding of air bubbles with precision, gun on his lap- he’d reach for it before Grian could do anything- so press for more information he did. “But- I don’t think we ever met, and you’re pointing a gun at me! Am I being kidnapped?!”- being as loud as he could, more panic seeping into his voice as the man got closer. “Yes. It’s business, boy, don’t take it personal” With that, Mr. ugly finished injecting whatever liquid into Grians vein, that, sadly, was very visible, and started packing away all his ‘supplies’. After a few seconds of instinctive resistance, Grian passed out.

•

•

•

•

Everything felt... Mushy. The air was- it was buzzing? And his limbs, they were- heavy. And, in pain? Grian whined- he didn’t like the feeling at all, and his head was swimming, making him sick- he just, he wanted it to stop. He tried bringing a hand to his head, but he couldn’t, and, for some reason, it stung- he wanted it to Stop. Why wasn’t it stopping? The buzzing around him quieted- that was, nice, than a new cutting sound filled the air. Was it a voice? Grian wasn’t sure, it wasn’t saying any words he recognized, too sharp and fluent in the same time, hitting his poor ears with its volume. He flinched, trying to curl up into a ball, or cover his ears, or both- he didn’t know, and it didn’t work anyways. It was so dark, why was it so dark- his eyes, they were open, right? The cutting sound returned, slightly different this time, sounding a lot more like words, but still escaping Grian. He thought he heard his name being called, by someone he failed to recognize, and his stomach clenched, for some reason. He felt tears welling up in his eyes, not from pain, but from fear and confusion and sickness, and he was so, so uncomfortable- it wasn’t stopping, it was supposed to, it wasn’t- why, _why_, **_why_** wasn’t it stopping? He felt something warm and an unpleasant texture touch his chin, lifting his head, and tried to pull away, to no avail, and than the same texture was on his stomach, dragging up to his chest, and it was cold and warm and wrong, and he sobbed, his heart aching. Did it beat faster? It would seem so, pulse in his ears resembling drums, was he shaking? He was, wasn’t he? Focusing on that, he tried to make sense of the situation- he didn’t like it, not one bit, he needed an out, there had to be an out, but right now there was only weird feelings in his limbs and, hands, on his body- he was so scared, laughable, pathetic, this whole thing didn’t make sense, so he trembled, he was pretty sure he said something, it also didn’t make sense, he was **scared**. There was a hot, moist feeling on his lips, and he hated it, it made him so, so sick- it was rough, it was like sand paper, it was the worst, so he tried to escape it, but was kept in place by that hand and something hard behind him, so trapped, too hot on the front and too cold on the back, it was the worst, and he wouldn’t wish any of this even on an enemy. Why weren’t they saving him? With that thought, came numerous others, Grian began to slowly remember, wake up, but it sucked, and he wanted nothing more than to stay away from it, from those hands, that mouth, from this- he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_, he **couldn’t **control it, himself, or, or ropes? Ropes restraining him, he wanted a bomb, a gun, an anything, anything was better than nothing, to flee, to fight, to survive- but he couldn’t, **couldn’t** get it, so horribly useless and helpless, crying without making a noise.They would kill him, he can’t be loud, or they’ll kill him, he was not in control and he was weak and they would _kill him_\- nothing mattered anymore, he couldn’t feel, only a void of sticky, murky and gooey remained of him- it was so, so bad. He tried going to a happy place, but he couldn’t, couldn’t focus so he failed, making it worse, becoming more aware instead, remembering what happened better and giving a full body shudder, he had rope burns, they were bad, but it didn’t matter- nothing mattered, they forgot about him, they didn’t really want him anyways, he was alone and with that thought, he fell limp, reciprocating when a mouth was on his again, feeling the smirk- a right of a victor, and begging to not be eaten alive in any other situation- more tears streamed down his face, the blindfold not holding them back anymore. It lasted forever, more unwanted attention brought to every inch of his body, and than, it stopped. Whoever was touching, stopped, drawn away, and said something, what completely escaped Grian, shuffling beginning around him, clicking, loud, unpleasant sounds surrounding him whole- it was better, it was so much better, maybe he’ll be left alone now, even if he’ll be killed- he’s okay with that, that’s better than all of this, that’s- Grian forced himself to stop, he would upset someone, maybe more than one, if he thought this, he would upset them, make them all sad, he couldn’t do this. Trembling and crying, he tried to hope, and maybe that was the right thing to do- a loud bang, followed by rapid fire of multiple guns, so terribly loud, was all around him, making him want to die or to kill, and he settled on the latter- he would not be a disappointment, not again, not ever, he would not worry people, bother them, he would be good, for once. The string of sound ended, there was something hot and very water like on him- blood, he realized, presumably not his- and some footsteps approached him, making him curl into himself as much as the binds allowed, said footsteps stopping immediately, as a soft, accented- but good, familiar- voice said something to him from a little behind the steps, sounding awfully worried and heartbroken but a little happy, and, with some processing he recognized it as Iskall saying his name and some other gibberish, seeing his lack of reaction beginning a conversation with the other person- Tango, by the sound of things. Grian felt himself relax, ever so slightly, knowing these were his friends, family, almost, and he trusted them, and they didn’t leave him, didn’t hate him, came for him- at least because he was useful, and that was enough. When he heard footsteps this time, he worked not to flinch- it was okay, he was okay, the footsteps weren’t as rushed or loud this time, it was **okay**. There were hands hovering each side of his face, barely touching, asking permission, and that reassured him, though it shouldn’t have- he gave it, leaning a little forward so that the hands- gentle and softer this time- pressed into his face. Nothing he expected happened, and he chose not to dwell on that- instead, the hands removed his blindfold, ruffling his hair when done- Grian opened his eyes to close them straight away, there was too much light, even like this. Something reassuring ringed through the air, his name repeated again, but unlike some, time, earlier it was safe, _familial _and everything it was supposed to be- again, and that brought a nice, warm feeling to his chest. He felt hands asking for consent, agreement, permission again, this time on his own hands, and that was weird- his friends didn’t have four of those, did they? Curiosity took its hold of Grian, cracking his eyes open just a notch, seeing blob of color on each side- one more red and like fire and demons, one more green and like water and forests- that explains the four arms thing. He tried talking, not sure how to communicate otherwise, his voice cranky and strangled and barely doing, what it’s supposed to: “Go for it”- he tried to sound comforting and upbeat, but he probably failed- he could just feel all the worry fill stale, heavy air. Or did he fail to breathe properly? It didn’t matter- both his arms were being freed, and he wasn’t sure how to go about it. The green blob- Iskall, he thought- finished first and moved down- Grian flinched, just a bit- which proven to be the wrong thing to do, as both- men?- stopped dead in their tracks, and he had to remind himself they wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t hate him, wouldn’t be mad- he could trust them, they freed his arms- he had strong arms, they knew it, they wouldn’t- he attempted a smile, nodding ever so slightly, not trusting himself to talk. It was hard to tell what they felt about it, their faces were- wrong, they were wrong, they weren’t usually like this, but it was still them, as they talked again, so nice, familiar, safe, good even if he hardly understood it- he felt a little more at ease, realizing he had all his muscles strained and tense before this moment.They were done faster this time, Tango-Tango?- backing away a little and- doing, something with his hands, Iskall- in a mask, he’s seen it before, as well as a similar one- cold blues, whites and light turquoises contrasting with bright, hot magenta highlights, so very cold and beautiful, with fire beneath it, it was just as pretty, though he couldn’t quite see any detail now- rouse to his eye level, keeping his distance, and just stared. He was talking, and Grian could almost make out carefully pronounced words- something about everything being okay, and something about Mumbo- tall with a funny mustache, very trustworthy and anxious- worrying so much and he will be so happy to see Grian back- it was weird, but soothing to hear and think. With no face to focus on, Grian took in on the others body language, and, after a few seconds of contemplating it, realized Iskall wanted to- wanted to feel him, which was in no way surprising, why didn’t he just ask?- with that thought, he opened his arms, lifting them a little bit, in an inviting gesture, trying to say- I’m all yours- or something, without actually saying it, it felt like a wrong thing to say. The second his hands left the chair, or so it would seem, Iskall latched himself onto Grian, arms surrounding him, trapping him in place, grabbing onto his clothes, mask slightly off now to press into the crook of his neck, and it was hot, and heavy, and too little space, and uncomfortable, and **_scary_**\- but that meant nothing, he would keep it to himself, this was his friend and if he wanted a hug, Grian would give him a hug, being scared of hugs was not a thing anyway. Suddenly, tight bonds around him loosened, placed themselves on his shoulders and showed him away, slowly, carefully, gently, very, very slo w ly reaching for his hair, and petting him with such care he could faint from confusion, an almost disembodied voice quietly in the background: “You didn’t really want that hug, did you?” It carried so much sadness and care, he might just explode- he, for the love of it, could not understand. Why does it matter? He didn’t realize he said it out loud, and when he did, he felt dread tug him in every direction, but mainly into himself- it was a wrong thing to say, stupid, _stupid_, **_stupid_**, he’s upset, upset with you, he didn’t want to hear it, it was the wrong thing to say- but instead of, well, anything situation appropriate, Grian just got words he couldn’t understand- or one word, this was not English, what was this? They were said in such an earnest, broken tone, with so much concern stuffed into them even with no meaning, they hit harder than any fist ever could, and, maybe, it was situation appropriate when he thought about it- even if he couldn’t understand the concern, it felt misplaced, and he didn’t understand when a hand reached out to his face but drawn back, slowly, Iskall lowering himself and trying to become small- was he scared? Why was he scared? There was a sound from behind Iskall, it was a bit distressed, but tried its hardest to sound calming, and Grian was reminded of another listener, who, he could see now, had a phone- and oh, he couldn’t see properly again, he wasn’t sure why- tears, maybe? Tango, he thought- probably telling everyone they found him- and he was never more certain of something like this before, well, he was, but he never hoped to get it again- it was happy news, the thought terrifying in its own, confusing and conflicting right. Tango came a little closer, careful to avoid bodies and sudden moves, placing a hand on Iskalls shoulder, but not looking at him, even with the mask, he hugged Iskall, shifting the mask away for comfort, Iskall hugging him back, both gestures so primal and desperate you could think the world was burning, not some wrong words said in the wrong time. Grian felt guilty, but didn’t change his position in the chair, no matter how much he wanted to- he could feel eyes on him, burning his skin, even if no one was looking right now.

There was a little commotion at the door, the dreaded, dreaded door Iskall had to tear down to see what he saw, and, letting go of Tango a little, he could see Stress, Cub, Scar and Mumbo in the doorway, masks in place, holding all sorts of things Tango said they needed. He couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief- if he’d have to hear any of his friends, specifically Grian at this point and time, say something like this ever again he would probably cry into tomorrow, than die in his own tears. It wasn’t really the words- it was all the context, how he still didn’t move to sit more comfortably, how he forced himself to initiate contact he didn’t want, how they found him, why he was taken- it all was taxing, and if it was such a rollercoaster for him, what was it like for Grian? Or even Mumbo, who experienced panic attacks or close to panic attack scenarios about once a week, sometimes on the grounds of everything being too good? He, quite frankly, didn’t want to even think about that, and maybe it was a bit selfish- but he couldn’t begin to imagine this day from either of those perspectives, especially not Grians. It felt almost disrespectful- he couldn’t give that amount of distress justice. He was brought back from this mini- self deprecation toss by Stress putting a cold hand on his shoulder: “Is you okay, love?”- simple words, but they made him feel all of today’s shenanigans in one go, getting him to hug her and forcefully exhale, trying to keep his cool, as showing any upset in front of Grian right now was morally forbidden, and he had pretty strong morals. That made him realize- oh, shit, the hermits are worried and touchy-feely, this was going to go wrong. Tango, emerging from out of nowhere and reading his thoughts, simply shown him his phone, a conversation about pressing matters held on a tiny screen of a fucking cot- but, at least, that prevented one hell of a catastrophe in everyone’s mental health. When he turned his attention to the cut root of prevented apocalypse, he saw Cub carefully mixing something in a cup, Mumbo talking quietly about anything and everything as well as Scar, who was also trying to get as much information as he could- the concorps had no hearts and it shown, but at least they were helpful and fun to have around, so there was that. Scared to hear something in vein with all the shit he didn’t want to come close to, Iskall slumped against Stresses and Tangos hug, distancing himself by thinking about the mini game he was going to work on when he came back instead. He may be a coward, but at least he was no hazard, and he was loved, so that counted for something.

Grian was growing a bit tired of his constant confusion. He saw people enter the room, in masks he’s seen before, careful and quiet, two of them looking more nervous then other two- maybe they just disguised it better, when he really thought about- they seemed a bit tense, a bit snappier, a bit off- and he could tell it was because of him. They didn’t have any weapons, at least he thought so, but they did have some packages and boxes and what not. The masks he really loved came into view, a cold and fiery one, and the silly Pringle’s one- he was sure it was the two in identical, grayish blue masks fault, though he had no idea why. Something about a thanos snap? That made no sense. While he was contemplating the masks, people wearing them scattered across the room, the pink one- Stress- going to comfort Iskall, the Pringle’s and black one- Mumbo- coming to stand a little closer, but not very close- Grian didn’t quite understand, but he felt it was for him, so he felt appropriately grateful, and even more confused, and the colorful, but identical ones- brown- Scar- going to stand opposite Mumbo, putting a bag on the floor and hands behind his back, and white- Cub- sitting down between them, on someone’s body- not like it really mattered. None of them came close to him, and that felt weird, and wrong, and did he do something bad? When he thought about it, Scar rolled forward a little bit, saying his name in questioning manner- did he want to give something? Grian didn’t know, but he nodded anyway- Scar was nice, it would be bad to refuse him something, he wouldn’t get mad, but he would get sad- the expertise seemed right, as Scars face lit up, and he wheeled closer, extending a hand- with caution, like to a wild animal- why? He wouldn’t bite, he’s never bitten anyone, if they didn’t ask, he wouldn’t attack- was he not making it obvious? Did he fail at the one thing he was good at? Trying not to think too hard, or else he says it again- a _mistake_, not to ever be repeated- he put his hand atop of Scars open palm, which didn’t close around his fingers, but Scar looked happy, so it was probably okay. Wait, how could he tell Scar looked happy, there was a mask there- oh. There wasn’t. Confused with all the mask disappearing- or not being there in the first place- business Grian almost missed, when Scar started talking- something about Cub- evil capitalist, Grian thought suddenly- making something for him, to make him fall asleep. It sounded a lot like a question, but treating it like one seemed a bit risky, so Grian just nodded again, knowing full well he’d say something stupid if he opened his mouth. There was a concerned ‘are you sure?’ on his other side, said by- Mumbo- so nervous, and trying to hide it so hard- why? He’d never hid his upset before, was it because of Grian? The thought was almost too much to bear, splitting into it’s polar opposites- it was being done for him, or it was his fault, and while the latter had more logic to it, he felt it was incorrect for reasons far out of his reach.Keeping quiet for as long as he did was definitely a bad idea, as he could see Mumbo tremble, and just look plain uncomfortable, and guilt overwhelmed him again, so he just nodded vigorously in Mumbos general direction, holding onto Scars hand- oh, that was not ideal, momentary support was not worth loosing Scars hand, it was reassuring, it didn’t grab, it almost didn’t move, and it felt so soft and nice and tender- all what _those_ were not, under any definition in the world. For some reason, nothing followed him nearly breaking a hand- maybe because those are your friends, dumbass- and, once that settled, Cub in front of him held up a- a measuring cup, with something clear- probably water- in it, and than dangled a tiny zip locked pack of- something white and like a maracas: “Are you sure you want The Evil capitalist to put you to sleep?” Grian understood all of it- he considered this an improvement, even if an absolutely laughable one- baby steps, and all that. He felt a tug of something familiar at- at teasing?- but good teasing, that bubbled and blossomed and brought rays of sunshine into the world, with smiles and happy and everything he wanted right now. This time, when he was agreeing, it was sincere- no words said on his part, but a small, genuine smile creeping on his face, easily spooked, but no one here was going to test that- and the feeling it brought was nothing he experienced before, not to this extant at least. Cub nodded, satisfied, and- and started doing something, movement too fast and jerky for Grian to tell. Mumbo spoke, asking for closeness, and agreeing to it felt natural, and he put away his hand on Mumbos side, inviting him to sit, obviously doing a better job at conveying his thoughts- that was good, Mumbo being close was also good, as well as Scar, who still didn’t take away his hand and simply was, a calming presence, finally making something feel_ right_, if confusing. Nothing about- about any of this- was right, even if he couldn’t even remember any of it, but Scar- Scar fixed it, somehow, to some extent, and that’s why Grian would die for him. Lost in his thought, he missed Mumbo sitting down or beginning to talk, and he felt ashamed- this is your friend, and you ignored him, and he’ll know- but not scared, not nearly as much as he should be, but being scared of Mumbo is wrong, so what was going on? His friend either didn’t notice, or didn’t care-  didn’t judge \- that Grian lost track of him, and just kept talking, calming and sweet words he had trouble grasping, but understood the underlying concept of- Mumbo was remembering stuff, stuff he couldn’t remember right now, but knew happened, and that was nice. The spoon- the name was weird, but came without knocking- quieted, and after a moment of slight worry, Grian could hear Scar, in a distinctive voice, ask something: “Is it okay for me to hug you?” That question, it felt weird- looking at Scar, he didn’t want to hug him right now, but asked anyway- did he think _Grian_ wanted a hug? That put him in a stressful position, answering either would be wrong, so he had to talk: “If you want to”. He sounded weak, and tired, and he didn’t like it- no one around him would like it, Scar didn’t like it, but tried to mask it- or did he dislike the answer? Oh no, he wanted a yes or no answer, but he didn’t get one, and that was stupid, yes or no answers are always tricky, but refusing them is never good, why- he was cut off by Scars voice, reassuring and with steel underneath it: “It doesn’t matter if I want to or not. Do you want a hug?” So he did askfor Grians sake, that was bad, it put him into a tricky position, but right now, he could answer- he shook his head, he was being honest and it was easier than lying, he didn’t have to worry he’d be found out- Scar smiled, satisfied this time: “ See? It was not hard to say the truth”. He almost blacked out than and there- Scar really wanted him to not lie, but than he’d be upset with him, why did he- pulled out of his blinding panic by Mumbos voice, he felt grateful, focusing on quiet jokes the other was telling, bathing himself in soothing words and familiar motives. It went like that for- for a period of time, Scar asking questions and studying his reaction, always rewarding him for a question well answered, classifying truth as the only right option, and Mumbo soothing his worries with meaningful words that didn’t have any inherent meaning, and than it stopped, Cubs voice cutting through the air. It was quiet and careful, so Grian barely caught what it said- he was getting better at understanding words, he got everything Scar and Mumbo said by now- but something about something being done, and he was supposed to remember, but couldn’t- it was okay, Scar said not remembering was okay, so he tried not to think- when he opened his eyes, there was a- something, being offered to him by Mumbo, who asked if he was okay to fall asleep- glancing at Scar and seeing he was looking, he thought about his answer, remembering Evil scientist and nodding- he gave his agreement already, why didn’t they just- not how it works, Grian- trying to bring his hands- one still holding Scars- to hold the dish, but his grasp was too weak and he was thankful Mumbo didn’t let go, taking a sip- it tasted sweet, a bit like something he’s eaten before- and than downing the entire cup, feeling some of the liquid spill onto his clothes few seconds too late, disappointment about ruined clothes the last thing he registered, before falling asleep- slow and steady this time around, knowing he was _safe_, and that’s all that mattered.

When he woke up next days morning, he was in his bed, laying on top of soft blankets he took with him on this trip. Groggy and tired, he didn’t remember a thing from when he was drugged, but seeing how everyone acted let him know one thing- it was **bad**, and he owed them the world and more for saving him, before the effect wore off. He talked to each of them, long and tiring, but so empowering and reassuring conversations, and short and brief, but no less important ones, and than quiet- just being there, together, sharing what mattered most- he was here, with them, and if they fret over him for the next month, it’s entirely his fault. 

** _ We’re definitely not a cult- Zed, to a job offer_ **

_ThatNameWasInBadTaste-Tango_@everyone is now required to wear a tracker. if you resist, i’ll catch you and put a one in your neck instead.

tango will be the first on the hit list, and I won’t use a sedative even if he agrees.

_RedDamsel_:(

_ThatNameWasInBadTaste-Tango_ c**hanged their name to ** _Doc_** !**

_Doc_shush, you’re second, but i will use one for you.

_Blood eyes_hey! why does he get a sedative?

_Doc_he didn’t make me angry. 

_Joe Hills _ Tango’s offline, so we can safely assume Doc killed him. Run for your life, everybody!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry to say that if you read this as a ship, I'm scared to talk to you, as everyone should be. Hope you enjoyed this clusterfuck of bullshit and confusion! Also, please talk to me, if you want:(


End file.
